


Something In the Water

by God0fMischief



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God0fMischief/pseuds/God0fMischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During one cold night, Molly recalls the day she left Sherlock and just how much her life has changed since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not watched the last episode of series 2 and the whole of series 3, please come back another time. There's a lot of hinting, implications, and outright spoilers!

_"(Must be something in the water you drink)_  
_Why, why?_  
_I do love you, I do_  
_Or else I wouldn't go through all the things I do."_

_\--- Prince, "Something In the Water (Does Not Compute)"_

* * *

 

Molly sat on the edge of her bed, shivering from the chill the night had brought. No matter how long she spent in autopsy rooms, she would never get used to the cold. With slow, deliberate movements so as not to let go of the warmth she was holding in with her blanket, she got up and made her way out to her small flat's living room. It was warmer in here, she thought, walking up to the air conditioner display and set it to twenty-two Celsius. She stole a quick glance at the clock display on her stove and groaned - it was four in the morning, on a Saturday. Lucky for her it was her day off; she had finally decided to use some of those vacation days she had wracked up over countless years.

Instead of hiking it back to her bedroom, she turned and walked to the living room and plopped down on the sofa. It wasn't like she was going to be able to get back to sleep anyway. Yawning, she grabbed the TV remote control and pressed the power button, a _click!_ sound could be heard as the television came alive.

No sooner had the telly turned on then she regretted it and cursed - actually cursed - when a deerstalker atop a mop of dark brown curls appeared on the screen. It was a rerun report of Sherlock Holmes catching the British press up on his latest adventures (rather reluctantly). Every bit of her told her to change the channel or, better yet, go back to bed and catch some shut eye, but she just couldn't. It had been over a month since she had talked to the _Reichenbach_ hero, and she would be lying if she said she didn't miss him.

But it had been her choice - to stop all contact with him in order to heal. True, Sherlock had shown her more affection since his return from the dead, but it wasn't enough and it never was going to be. What she wanted was something he couldn't give, no matter if he tried - intimacy.

Molly thought back to the day she had made up her mind to cut him out of her life and shivered, this time not from the chill. It had been a hard decision, but it was one that had to be made for her sanity. The hardest part, by far, was seeing him smile at her just seconds after she made the choice.

_"Molly, thank you." Sherlock turned to face her abruptly._

_She nearly tipped over - she had not expected him to acknowledge her, let alone say something...nice._

_"F-For what?" She looked at him, her right eyebrow raised in question._

_"For being there. That's all." He then flashed a very genuine smile at her, clearly expecting a response._

_She just sighed. Of course he would appreciate her loyalty_ now _, of all times._

_Sherlock noticed her silence and began to walk slowly towards her, one step at a time._

_"Molly?" he called her name with something that sounded like concern. She turned back to writing the postmortem vital records on her chart as he got closer and closer. "Mm?" was all she could get out._

_"Is something wrong?" She tore her gaze from the bloodied and mutilated corpse before her and placed it upon Sherlock. Or at least the wall behind Sherlock's head._

_"N-no. Jus' tired is all. Heh," she added the chuckle at the end, hoping it would fool the genius just this once._

_It worked, or at least it seemed to. He simply nodded his head and grabbed his trademark coat before heading towards the exit. Not a word or another glance from him._

_That_ was the last time she had talked to him in person. She grabbed her smartphone from the wood coffee table and checked her archived messages.

Sherlock had contacted her through his usual route of communication, text, inviting her out to tea. She was willing to bet John, Mary, and Mycroft would be there too..Molly bit her lip in frustration.

God he was so dense. She hadn't even bothered to respond, and he hadn't pressed her for any answers. In fact, he didn't even come by the morgue anymore, which was all well and good by her.

She tossed her phone to the opposite side of the couch and pulled the blanket tighter around her, watching and listening to her lover make a fool out of Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade for the umpteenth time in his career. It was rather funny, Molly allowed herself to think. Greg turned into a bumbling idiot when Sherlock was around, but that was mostly out of fascination.

Just then, her phone started to vibrate.

 _It's four in the morning!_ She yelled mentally. Whoever it was would have to wait.

Molly yawned one more time and stretched out on the couch, kicking her phone completely off without a care in the world. The phone paused in between consecutive vibrations, letting her know it was a series of text messages being spammed her way. She shrugged and turned over onto her side, the tip of her nose touching the back pillows. Soon she was drifting off, despite the never-ending buzz of her cellphone.

Not a moment later there was loud bamming at her front door, like that of a police officer.

She sat straight up like a rocket, prepared for the worst. She knew Moriarty liked to play games, and apparently he was back..

The doorknob started to jiggle violently. Whoever it was was trying to make their presence known.

"Who...Who is it?" she asked, hesitantly, her high voice quivering with not a small amount of fear. No answer. Instead the banging and rattling continued, forcing Molly to swallow her alarm and get up to at least look through the peephole. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes to get a better look through the small hole and gasped.

It was Sherlock. Of course it was Sherlock.

"Molly, God damn it!" Sherlock called, frustration thick in his voice.

She contemplated running off to her room, any interaction with him unwanted. Her healing process was yet unfinished.

"Molly!" he called, this time with...was that desperation?

Confused by the tone of his voice, she first unhooked the security latch, then the top lock, and hesitantly opened the door just enough for them to see each other.

It took everything in her power not to gasp again, this time from the sight of a very bewildered looking Sherlock Holmes. He was in his usual attire; dress shirt, slacks, and trench coach, but the look on his face was one she had never seen on him before.

It was a mixture of anger, perplexity, exhaustion, and sadness..

But that didn't stop indignation from rising in her.

"Sherlock, it is four in the morning! What is wrong with you?!" She silently thanked God that she had no other neighbors on her floor.

Instead of answering, he pushed past her and began pacing from the back of the couch to the front door and back.

Molly pursed her lips and shook her head. It was going to be a very long morning.

After a long fit of silence, he stopped pacing and look at her with dead eyes. Sherlock looked like a complete madman..She wondered if he was on drugs again.

"Molly," he began to frown,"You have been avoiding me."

"Yes," she said, simply.

"I do not understand. Have I...Hurt your feelings? I am sincerely sorry, Molly. Let the error be known so that I may amend-"

At this she shook her head. "Sherlock, for someone so smart, you sure are thick."

His eyes widened a little in surprise, clearly not expecting her to be so frank. No one ever expected Molly to be frank, but she had done some growing in the last month.

"Molly I.." his words failed him, a very rare occurrence, and part of her enjoyed it. But instead of relishing in seeing him as lost as she was a few months ago, she resolved to tell him exactly how she felt.

"You are right, Sherlock - I have been avoiding you. And for very good reason." Here a chill ran down her spine, prompting her to pull the blanket tighter for the hundredth time. The heater must have switched off.

"I have no reason to speak to you again Sherlock, and it is for the simple fact that I love you. Or I did. I'm not so sure anymore. Staying away from you is for my own health." At this she took a few steps toward the door and opened it, gesturing for him to see his way out.

He stood there trying to comprehend what she had said, not making an inch toward the hallway. She could practically see the gears running in his head trying to make sense of the matter.

"For God's sake, Sherlock! This isn't some case for you to solve. There aren't any answers except the one I have chosen for the both of us. Please leave, and don't come back." Molly said, as calmly as she could despite the circumstances.

Having the door open made the temperature in the house drop even lower.

Finally he walked over to the doorway, and turned just as he got over to her.

"Molly, why did you not tell me?"

"Because you are incapable of loving me the way I deserve to be loved. You said so yourself when we visited that tube fanatic."

He pursed his lips, and, even in the dark of the room, she could see tears stinging his eyes.

"I see.."

Another moment of silence.

A deep part of Molly, unbeknownst to her, hoped he would whisk her away to her bedroom where they would make passionate love and mend each other's broken hearts and shortcomings.

But that didn't happen.

"You will always have a friend in me, dear Molly. And I will always love you, please know that." Sherlock whispered, so softly she almost didn't hear it.

And like that he was gone, off to solve the next case with poise and vigor and passion. Sherlock could never love Molly the way she needed to be loved, nor could he love her the way he had loved the mysterious Irene Adler.

She closed the door quietly, locking it before pressing her head against the cool wood. He would keep his silent promise. He would not contact her, he would not seek her out, but he would always be there if she somehow needed him again.

And he did love her, in his way. But it just wasn't enough.

She wrapped her blanket around her and turned towards the hallway near her kitchen.

_Now, about this heater..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock recounts his missteps along the way after Molly shuts him out.

_Don't you know these dreams, I wish could be_  
_The real you and me_  
_I come running back to you_  
_You push me away, you push_  
_You push me away_  
_\--- The Jacksons, "Push Me Away"_

* * *

 

Sherlock sat in his usual chair, bouncing a small ball to the ground, catching it when it popped back up. He was thinking.

Perhaps he was _overthinking_.

Either way he could not understand where he had went wrong. He had tried so very hard to show Molly affection, but it had blown up in his face earlier that morning.

_"You are incapable of loving me the way I deserve to be loved. You said so yourself."_

Incapable of loving her the way she needed to be loved. The moment she had said that it seemed like a knife had stabbed him deep in his heart. He wanted to prove her wrong, to show her just how much she meant to him, but it was too late. The door had been closed and he did not have a key. He laid his head back on the chair and sighed; She was right about one thing.

_"This isn't some case for you to solve."_

He mulled over her words, replaying them over and over, trying to see if there was any deeper meaning to what she had said - perhaps a twitch of the eye meant she was being dishonest, a shifting of weight betraying a need or want - but he came up short. Everything she had said she meant; she didn't want him to come back. She didn't want _him_. Molly didn't even know if she loved him anymore. At least that was what she said.

Sherlock knew something was going on with Molly a few months earlier. She had stopped talking to him as candidly as before and it puzzled him. At first he thought maybe it was her shyness, but this was something extraordinarily out of character. She had changed. Somehow, some way she had changed practically overnight.

"Sweet Molly," he murmured to himself.

He blinked a few tears out of his eyes and quickly wiped them away as he heard footsteps traveling up the stairs. By the rhythm of the footfalls, he could tell it was John Watson and his brother, Mycroft Holmes.

 _Just my luck_ , he thought, rolling his eyes and heading off to his bedroom. He needed a nap desperately.

He kicked his shoes off and looked into the mirror across from his bed; his face looked different - awkward, ill even. And his eyes told on him more than his mouth could do. He decided that hiding from John and Mycroft until this was all over was the best option. So Sherlock pulled the covers back and slid into his bed, still thinking about her.

That episode in the morgue still puzzled him, though he understood more now. He had said something to her, something genuine and it had been met with a certain hesitation from the recipient. It wasn't that he had expected her to pat him on the back for being nice (though that would have been appreciated), but he had, quite honestly, just wanted to see her smile at him. What he got was quite the opposite.

_"Molly, thank you," he turned to face her, an earnest look on his face. The expression on Molly's face was that of surprise, which slightly amused him._

_"F-For what?" she asked, stammering in response, her eyebrow raised._

_He knew she was unsure on whether or not to trust his good mood. It was a survival mechanism she had had to develop earlier in their relationship, and so it was his mission now to calm that suspicion. He loved her, and he would tell her so, little by little._

_"For being there, that's all." He flashed a smile at her, hoping it would ease the tension that had just developed. But it did the exact opposite. Instead of replying, she looked back at the corpse in front of them and began writing more notes down. Molly then sighed, barely noticeable if her chest had not moved up, then down._

_He began to walk up to her, with deliberately slow steps in case her nerves got the better of her. "Molly?" he asked, very concerned. Something was amiss and he would get to the bottom of things one way or another._

_"Mm?"_

_Mm? Not even an intelligible word. Very unlike her. "Is something wrong?" She finally looked up at him, still no appearance of a smile. As he got closer he realized she wasn't even looking at him, she was looking at the wall_ behind _him._

_"N-No. Jus' tired is all, heh."_

_He knew she was lying. It didn't take a genius to see it, despite his being one._

She must need space _, he thought to himself._

_If space was what she needed, space was what she would have. When she was ready, she would come back to him._

Only she never did come back. Instead she had stayed away, ignoring his calls and texts. Even an invitation out to tea with John, Mary, and Mycroft couldn't bring her out. He swallowed his frustrations and unhappiness - this wasn't about him, he knew. When Molly was ready, she _would_ come back to him. At least that's what he told himself everyday.

Despite almost two months rolling past with no contact, he never stopped thinking about Molly. During cases, press conferences, ordinary conversations, her smile and voice would cross his mind and send him on edge. He was getting impatient - he needed answers. It had been too long since he had seen her and now he was desperate.

...

Around three in the morning, Sherlock woke up groggy and tired. The sleep he had had was not fulfilling, and he knew why; missing Molly was beginning to affect his sleep. The only way to fix it was to see her, to know the truth and help her with whatever problem she was going through. He got up and dressed in his usual outfit despite the hour, executed his morning hygiene routine, and headed out the door. No taxi would be running at - he checked his watch - four in the morning, at least not around 221B, so he started off down the street. This time his photographic memory came in handy, helping him to remember which way to turn, and, ultimately, just what her flat looked like.

Once he arrived, he walked through the lobby door and up three flights of stairs to find her. He stood by the front door for three minutes, preparing for what he might say. Just as he was about to knock on the door, he remembered the hour and thought it would be better to send her a text as a warning. The first message was sent, and then another..

He leaned up to the door, pressing his ear against the cool wood and sighed. She was awake - there were different kinds of sounds, like those similar to news coverage. He knew Molly never slept with the telly on, which meant either she had misplaced her phone, or she was ignoring him. Again.

Sherlock typed away on his phone, sending message after message, a frantic anxiety building in the pit of his stomach. He was here now, but why was she staying away?

His dispair had, by this time, turned to full blown agony. Text messages weren't getting her attention, but one thing would, he was certain. He began hitting the door loudly with the side of his fist - neighbors be damned. Over and over he pummeled.

"Molly!" he called, his voice hoarse. "God damn it! Molly!"

He didn't let up until he could hear the security latches being switched around. She was unlocking the door! Finally!

When he saw her he almost sighed with relief. It had been so long since he had seen her sweet face. It took everything in Sherlock's power not to reach through the door and hold her to his chest.

"Sherlock, it is four in the morning! What is wrong with you?!"

His daydream was quickly thrown to the side as he realized she was not pleased with his presence.

He couldn't bring himself to answer, and brushed past her into her flat. His nerves were on end, this time out of shock. He had not expected her to greet him with melancholy. She closed the door behind him and he started to pace, trying to put his thoughts in alignment with one another. Something was definitely amiss.

Sherlock stopped pacing after God knows how long in silence, and looked at his lover with sadness. "Molly, you have been avoiding me."

"Yes."

Yes? That was it? A simple yes?

"I do not understand. Have I...Hurt your feelings? I am sincerely sorry, Molly. Let the error be known so that I may amend-"

He cut himself off when she began to shake her head. A knawing feeling of impending gloom were coloring his feelings.

"Sherlock, for someone so smart, you sure are thick."

His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets - she was being blunt, which was very unlike her. "Molly I.." but words failed him. Nothing made much sense anymore, and he wasn't sure what to do or say to her to make things right. He stared at her and realized a part of her was enjoying his anguish. _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned._

"You are right Sherlock," she said, nodding her head, "I have been avoiding you, and for very good reason."

Suddenly the room got colder than before. Molly had been avoiding Sherlock on purpose. The understanding hit him somewhere in the gut and made him want to sit down. Such a heavy blow from someone so sweet.

"I have no reason to speak to you again Sherlock, and it is for the simple fact that I love you. Or I did. I'm not so sure anymore. Staying away from you is for my own health."

Here she walked to the door and reopened it, clearly expecting him to leave. But he couldn't. His feet were planted to the ground and his mind was focused on managing the shock. It was a lot to take in. His lover did not....Did not what?

_No, don't think it.._

"For God's sake, Sherlock! This isn't some case for you to solve. There aren't any answers except the one I have chosen for the both of us. Please leave, and don't come back."

She wanted him to leave because...Because...

He walked to the doorway, his jaw clenched to give some feeling to his numb body. He stopped just in front of her, one thing on his mind. He needed to know..

"Molly, why did you not tell me?"

"Because you are incapable of loving me the way I deserve to be loved. You said so yourself when we visited that tube fanatic."

_Because you are incapable...the way she deserved to be loved._

It was true that he had said so himself, long ago when she was still engaged to that lookalike fiance. He had said it so she would be happy, so she wouldn't look over her shoulder at the altar and reach out to him instead of that boy..

Tears began to sting his eyes. He had, perhaps, made the worst error of his life and these were the repercussions.

"I see..." he said simply. It was all he could manage to say.

There was another silence, the air seemed like it was trying to choke Sherlock to a real premature death. He wanted to grab her and hold her, to tell her he didn't mean it and that he would do better, but she had made up her mind. What was done was done.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the tears at bay before saying:

"You will always have a friend in me, dear Molly. And I will always love you, please know that." Sherlock 's voice was barely audible. He couldn't muster up the strength to speak above a whisper.

He didn't wait for a reply. He simply left, down the three flights of stairs before his body turned to putty. Once outside and out of view of her flat, he leaned against the brick wall of an alley and cried harder than he ever had before over someone. He had lost Molly forever, there was no turning back.

 ...

There was a quiet rap at the door, and then it creaked open slowly, John Watson's head peeking through. When Sherlock turned under the covers to see who it was, both John and Mycroft stepped into the room, concerned looks on their faces.

"Brother mine, something is wrong. You have been avoiding us all, and we will not leave until you give a most convincing answer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! I finally finished a multi-chapter fic (yeah, I know it's only two D:) for the first time ever! Whoop! I could not have done that without encouragement from readers like you, so thank you so much for your support, comments, and kudos!
> 
> I'm sincerely grateful!
> 
> See you around!

**Author's Note:**

> A two chapter one shot about Sherlolly and unrequited LUH!
> 
> I posted this on my Tumblr blog, withbrutality, and will be posting most (if not all) of my future fics on this blog! Thanks for all the great feedback and support! <3
> 
> http://withbrutality.tumblr.com


End file.
